


i hope that you don't run from me

by hemakeshimstrongx



Category: One Direction
Genre: Angst, Con Artists, Drinking, I Don't Even Know, Larry Stylinson Is Real, M/M, Mild Smut, New York City, OH YALL, Recreational Drug Use, Relationship Problems, Smut, a sultry cover of toxic, i guess?, thats all i can manage leave me be, theres nothing else, vague information about cons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 02:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9946115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hemakeshimstrongx/pseuds/hemakeshimstrongx
Summary: "There’s no doubt in Harry’s mind that every single person here will be in love with him by the end of the evening. He moves like he’s expecting the entire room to watch him. And, the thing is, the entire room does watch him. He enters and it’s like they’re practically ready to kneel before him. Harry wonders what that’s like.For the longest time, he’d been like this. Charismatic. Charming. The goddamn sun. Harry hates him for it. He’s not sure if it’s good for one person to have so much at his fingertips. But the people don’t mind, for him they’d willingly give up everything, everything, without thinking twice for him. Harry’s done that. Harry hates him for that, too."[Louis Tomlinson is a con artist who can't make up his mind. Harry Styles is the pretty boy who is always on it.]





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My friend Tommy](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+friend+Tommy).



> here i am again! this is a mess, probably, and was meant to be written as a joke but here we are. thousands of words later, angst and fluff and smut and research about cons and wow. 
> 
> this is poorly edited because i cannot bring myself to look at this any longer.

 

**OCTOBER 2014 (THREE YEARS AGO).**

Harry just… watches. Watches as this man takes a baseball bat to his car. He can’t do anything else. “Um,” he says, still staring in awe.

The man turns around, a horrified look on his face. He seems to go from horrified to physically sickened when he sees Harry. Harry, on the other hand, feels his heart beat just a little bit faster when he sees how pretty the man is. He just smashed Harry’s windshield and Harry’s attracted to him.  _ Right _ . “Fuck,” the man mutters. “Shit! This is your car, isn’t it?” 

“I know I’m kind of a shit parker,” Harry begins, licking his lips. His mouth feels very dry. He’s not nervous, though. Just slightly overwhelmed. “But did you really have to take a baseball bat to my windshield?” 

“Shit. No, I didn’t-I didn’t mean to.” 

“You didn’t mean to smash my car?” 

“No! I don’t-I don’t even know who you are.”

“Right… So then whose car did you think this was?” 

The man sighs, running a hand through his hair. Harry takes that split second to rake eyes over his body, taking special note of the man’s tailored suit. “Listen. I’m-I had a guy fuck me over, and I was meant to be destroying his car tonight. I guess his car looks a lot like yours and my shit friend gave me the wrong car. I’ll pay for everything, I swear.” 

****

**JULY 2017 (PRESENT DAY).**

Harry watches him, really watches him, totally awed. He’s absolutely captivating, talking to everyone and laughing with everyone and buying everyone drinks. There’s no doubt in Harry’s mind that every single person here will be in love with him by the end of the evening. He moves like he’s expecting the entire room to watch him. And, the thing is, the entire room  _ does  _ watch him. He enters and it’s like they’re practically ready to kneel before him. Harry wonders what that’s like.

For the longest time, he’d been like this. Charismatic. Charming. The goddamn  _ sun.  _ Harry hates him for it. He’s not sure if it’s good for one person to have so much at his fingertips. But the people don’t mind, for him they’d willingly give up everything,  _ everything, _ without thinking twice for him. Harry’s done that. Harry hates him for that, too. 

He floats around the room, still talking and charming the socks off every single person he speaks to. Harry ponders why his behavior here is so drastically different from when they were together; here he’s graceful, calm, but with Harry he moved like a fucking hurricane. And Harry absolutely loved the storm that he brought. 

Harry decides he can’t stay here anymore. Around the businessmen in expensive suits all falling head over heels with him while Harry just stands and  _ watches.  _ Watches him flirt money right out of their pockets, watches them agree to meetings to discuss future plans, watches them as they ask what he does and be surprised when he replies that he’s “simply a businessman.” The typical reply falls somewhere along the lines of mentioning that he’s a “businessman” and you’ll need to “meet privately” to discuss further with a charming wink that sells any man over. That’s the thing about these men, they’re easy enough to win over. Louis’ enough to win any man over.

Harry makes eye contact with him (definitely not on purpose) and feels his heart speed up and his mind start racing with possibilities. He strides over, confident, ignoring the other people that he could speak to and actually get something out of. 

“What’re you doing here, Styles?” 

Harry shrugs. “Can’t come to a nice event, Tomlinson? I see you’re still playing dirty.” 

Louis laughs, loud and open. God, he’s still the same fucking person. “What else would I be doing?” 

He’s still cocky too. Harry  _ hates  _ him. “I don’t know,” he says, attempting to remain unbothered and confident. As confident as Louis is. “Thought maybe by now you’d have a change of heart. You’re still playing it dirty, though. I guess I should’ve known.” 

Louis stares at him, seeming shocked. Not many people have the ability to stun Louis, and Harry’s glad to know that he still can. “Why? Think you can do better than me tonight, Styles?” 

Harry smirks. Confidence. But he has a feeling Louis sees right through him. “I can try.” 

Louis’ eyes scan the crowd of businessmen here. “Him,” he points. “Austin Kahn, forty two years old, no wife and no kids. Sitting on a shitload of cash.” 

So, with confidence he's not sure if he really has, Harry abandons his spot on the outskirts of the room and heads into the middle of it all. He's not really paying that great attention to the charade going on with this Austin Kahn. He does a lot of grinning and laughing and explaining some bullshit program to Kahn that requires a down payment. 

Harry’s walking away with a check for two hundred dollars, coming back to Louis with a grin on his face. “How’d you make out?” Louis asks. He’s got a beer now, and looks entirely pleased with something. Himself, the event, Harry, at this point it’s hard to tell. 

“Got two hundred off him.” Harry shrugs. 

Louis snorts. “That’s all?” 

“Difficult to convince him that a deposit for a new custom suit is anything more.” 

“A good suit would have a higher deposit cost. The men here aren’t afraid to spend a little money, Harry.” Louis points out. “You could’ve done better.” 

********

**THREE YEARS AGO.**

“You’re staring at me,” Louis says. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Because there’s… I’m looking at a Lamborghini? In my driveway?” 

“I promised I’d pay for the damage I did to your car, didn’t I? Now, here’s my apology.” 

Harry is speechless. He doesn’t know what to say. Louis’ bought him a new Lamborghini. It’s sitting in Harry’s driveway. He’s looking at it with his own two eyes right now. “Wanna take it for a spin?” Louis asks, offering Harry the keys. 

“I can’t take that.” 

Louis rolls his eyes, grabbing Harry by the hand and dragging him to the car. “Get in. I won’t make you drive it, since apparently you’re not used to being given nice things. But we are going for a drive. And you will take this.” 

Harry buckles into the passenger seat, awed over how incredible the interior of the car is. Louis looks at him, eyebrow cocked as he starts up the car. It roars to life, sounding like something Harry’s never even heard before. It’s loud and heavy and unbelievably extra for Harry to be starting up whenever he uses his car. “That’s fuckin’ loud,” he says, more to himself than Louis, but Louis hears him and grins. 

“Get that look off your face,” Louis scolds. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” 

Immediately, Harry tries to shake himself. “How did you… How?” 

Louis sighs. “I’m a con artist.” 

Harry laughs, looking out the window. It barely even feels like they’re going fast, that’s how smooth the ride is, but everything outside the window is whizzing by without giving Harry any time to process. “Right. I’m sure you are,” he says sarcastically. “Really, how did you afford this? Daddy work a big job?” 

“I’m serious,” Louis replies, glancing over at him. “I con money out of people. That’s how I can afford this.” 

Harry stares at him blankly. “You’re kidding. You’re fucking with me.” 

Louis shakes his head. “I’m not.” 

“Prove it.” 

“How do you want me to do that?” Louis laughs. 

“ _ Prove _ it.” 

Sighing, Louis looks like he’s thinking for a moment. He keeps driving, looking at their surroundings. Finally, he pulls off into a gas station and looks around the car. “I need… I’ll use this.” he decides, looking at a tacky-looking bracelet on his own wrist. 

Harry quirks an eyebrow. “Why?” 

“I just do. Listen,” he looks up at the gas station sign and begins typing something into the search bar on his phone. “Okay. I need you to give me your phone number.” 

Harry follows Louis instructions, giving his phone number and inputting a phone number that Louis rattles off into his own phone. “Now what?” 

“I’m going to prove to you that I’m a fucking conman. When I text you, I need you to call that number I gave you and tell them that you lost a nice bracelet and that it’s very valuable and important to you. Offer two hundred pounds as a reward. I’ll be right back.”

With that, Louis gets out of the car with his phone and the bracelet and heads for the shitty gas station bathroom. He comes back out a second later, typing on his phone. Harry’s phone dings with a text message from an unknown number, obviously Louis’. His text is bossy and to the point.  _ So _ obviously  _ Louis _ . 

**From: Unknown Number**

**_u ready kid?_ **

**To: Unknown Number**

**_You haven’t given me much of a choice._ **

**From: Unknown Number**

**_call._ **

With a deep breath, Harry calls the phone number Louis gave him. “Hi. I’m-uh, I’ve lost a bracelet and I was at your station earlier today, it might be there. I’m offering a two hundred pound reward for it? It’s just really important and I-”

The man who answered the phone cuts him off. “We just had a man drop off a bracelet. I’d assume this is it?” 

“I can come to check it out.” Harry says, looking to the gas station doors just waiting for Louis to come out. “Thank you very much.” he hangs up the phone call so fast it must be one for the record books. 

Harry sits impatiently, fiddling his necklace and his phone and constantly waiting for the ‘everything went wrong’ text from Louis. He changes the Unknown Number contact to say  _ Lou _ . No,  _ Louis _ . It feels like hours pass before Louis finally comes out and gets back in the driver’s seat. He drops the money into Harry’s lap. “Didn’t stick him up, didn’t threaten him. Didn’t even tell him my name.” 

“What? How? You just-” Harry stumbles over words, staring at the five twenty pound notes in front of him. 

“I’ll explain it to you, relax,” Louis says, pulling out of the parking lot and back onto the road. “I went in, said I’d found this bracelet. You called, I pretended to be looking around the place. The cashier told me that they’d just offered a two hundred pound reward for the thing. I suggested we split it, but that I couldn’t stick around to wait for the owner to show up. He gives me a hundred out of the register and I leave. The owner of the bracelet never shows up, and that’s it. In reality, in a more… professional setting, I’d get my best mate to come along and we’d use something that would be of much more value; a diamond ring or a musical instrument or something. It’s simple.” 

********

**PRESENT DAY.**

“I’ll buy you a sympathy drink,” Louis decides finally. “What do you want?”

“Sex on the beach,” Harry replies without thinking twice about his answer. Once Louis’

gone, Harry thinks that he should have put more thought and creativity into what he ordered, especially if Louis’ buying. He could get something outrageously expensive just to piss him off. But Harry’s brain isn’t working very well right now and he just wants something simple.

Louis disappears into the crowd of congregating business people. He fits right in, Harry thinks, nice suit and professional attitude and typical sneaky nature. Almost all businessmen are sneaky and after your money. Louis’ really no different. His business just isn’t run from a tall building with a barista on the floor and a personal assistant, Louis’ business is quite literally on the run. He’s never in one place for too long. That’s why it’s a miracle he’s stayed in New York for such a long time. That’s why he’s at this business mixer bullshit, that’s why Harry got to see him again. 

His train of thought is interrupted by Louis coming back with Harry’s drink. “Enjoy.” 

“It’s not just a sympathy drink,” Harry notes.“ _ You _ don’t buy drinks, you have them  bought for you.”

“I bought drinks for you. All the time.” 

“I know. I was the only person you did that for. That’s why I’m saying this isn’t just a sympathy drink for my semi-decent scam.” 

“It was much less than semi-decent.” 

“Whatever. What have you done tonight?” 

“Not at liberty to discuss my secrets right now, Styles. You know I won’t talk about it until the event is over. Which you won’t get to hear it anyway, because once I leave here tonight you’ll probably never run into me like this again.” 

Harry shakes his head. “New York is different for you. You like it here. You’ve been here since you ended things with me.” 

Louis looks at Harry, and he seems kind of sad. Louis Tomlinson looks a bit sad. “I bought you a sympathy drink,” he says sternly. “A pity drink. And I stayed in New York because it’s a big city and the men here have a lot of money and a lot of secrets.” 

And, that’s the Louis that Harry is used to know. Stern, assertive, not wanting his words to be twisted or taken the wrong way. Which Harry likes to do, he likes to push Louis. He thinks that they kept each other on their toes. Harry thinks that he kept testing Louis, making him do things that he wasn’t used to. 

Harry doesn’t know how to reply. He doesn’t know how to keep up this confident charade, he doesn’t know how to make Louis show him some fucking  _ respect _ . He’s not sure he knows how to get into Louis’ head anymore. “Congratulations on your two hundred dollars, but I’ve got to go.” 

“What? Why?” 

“Because I’ve made about two grand tonight and I’m ready to call it quits. Can only take so much from one event before people might catch on.” 

And, Louis’ mind is not an easy one to change. He gathers his stuff, he finishes his drink, he says goodbye to Harry again. Harry knows that Louis is taking his two grand out to an expensive car, one of the only permanent things that he owns, and speeding off to his fancy hotel. He’ll probably seduce somebody in the bar and take them back up to a luxurious room where they’ll fuck and Louis will probably take whatever money is in their wallet and leave before the sun comes up. 

Harry really, really hates him for that. 

He leaves not long after Louis does. Without anyone like him to watch anymore, Harry feels being there is pointless. The check in his pocket feels dirty and worthless as he hails a cab. 

 

At his hotel, Harry contemplates going in the pool, but his plan is quickly shot down when he sees it’s already closed. That means it’s later than he originally thought it was. He gets on the elevator, slumping against the wall as the doors shut. 

When a hand stops the door from closing, Harry, of course, is looking at none other than Louis. Louis laughs, shaking his head. “You've got to be fucking kidding me.” 

“You're welcome to take the next one,” Harry says, monotonous and no longer in the mood for witty banter. He doesn't have the energy to counter Louis’ remarks. 

“Where to, Miss?” Louis asks, fingers hovering over the buttons. Harry ignores the slight _Titanic_ reference and tells him fifteen, which makes Louis laugh again. “Same fucking floor, too. God.” 

They don't say anything on the way up. Harry goes left, and thankfully Louis goes right. 

In the privacy of his hotel room, Harry changes into more comfortable clothes and opens the bottle of wine that his mother always told him never to open in hotels because they charge you a shitload for it. But he's got this dirty money to spend somehow. Might as well be on some alcohol. He takes the entire bottle out onto the small balcony with him. 

The skyline shows him several buildings holding several lives to imagine paths for, but the more Harry drinks, the less lives there are to find. He takes his eyes off the building finally and looks at what's closer to him. Harry nearly falls out of his seat when he sees Louis several balconies down, smoking a cigarette. He stumbles to his feet and inside the hotel room as quickly as possible. Another Louis interaction is just what he needs. 

See, Harry can only handle so much of Louis at one time nowadays. When they first met, Harry took Louis in like he was the last breath of fresh air he’d ever have. Harry wanted Louis and only Louis, all the time, and that's how he liked it. He truly didn't mind. But now, taking Louis in feels like Harry’s taking on water and it's getting harder and harder to breathe. Louis’ just a lot at one time. He’s attractive and charming and flirty and knows exactly how to move his body to make someone fall under his spell. He's got money and he's good at what he does. He knows what he wants and how he wants it. He doesn't let anyone push him around, in fact,  _ he  _ does the pushing around. 

It also seems like Louis kind of hates Harry. That’s what Harry is gathering. Harry can preach day and night to anyone he so chooses about how he didn’t do  _ anything  _ wrong, but that wouldn’t matter to Louis. 

********

**(DECEMBER 2016) ONE YEAR AGO** . 

“We would have gotten so much more if you’d just told the entire story we  _ agreed  _ on telling. This only works because these guys have loaded pockets and are eager to fill their fucking void.”

“You’re yelling at me? We still got plenty from this, Louis! If you’re so unsure about my skills why don’t you just do it all yourself then?” 

“Because I’m not as willing for them to  _ fuck me  _ as you are!” Louis shouts. Harry stands there, stunned. “Shit. I’m sorry. Harry.” 

Harry shakes his head. “That’s why you use me, then? You think I’m willing to fuck any and everyone that stumbles in front of me?” 

“No, that’s not what I meant. Harry, that’s not what I meant. That’s not what I think.” 

“Then what did you mean? What else could that  _ possibly  _ mean? You’ve been using  me all this time just to get money, I get it.” He shrugs, really not wanting to start crying right now. A realization dawns on him very suddenly, one that makes him feel sick. “All this time I’ve been making money… I’m… am I just the long fucking con, Louis?” 

Louis looks shocked. Genuinely floored. “Baby, no! How could you even think that?” 

Harry doesn’t have a reply. He’s not sure he even  _ wants  _ to have a reply. So he shuts himself in the bathroom. He hears Louis sigh from outside the door. “I’ll just sit here until you’re ready to come out,” Louis says. It sounds like he’s right on the other side of the door, leaning against it. “You don’t have to answer me, but I am going to talk to you.” 

Since he’s been given the option not to answer, Harry doesn’t answer. 

“You’re not the long fucking con, Harry. I don’t know what I can say to you to make you believe it, but you’re not. And I didn’t mean what I said before. I hate when you end up getting one of them off, I hate when I have to do it. I hate that these forty something year old men are so far in their own, homemade closets they’ve got to fuck a pretty twenty something in order to feel  _ anything.  _ I don't like how easy it is for you to seduce them, no matter how straight or not-straight they may be.  When you come back to our room and tell me you’ve made however much money, I’m happy. When you tell me you sucked his dick to get that money, I’m pissed. This isn’t meant to be fucking prostitution, Harry. I get so angry I don’t even know how to explain it. It feels like it lights me on fire, and it makes  _ me  _ feel dirty for getting you into this mess.” 

“It isn’t your fault,” Harry says finally. 

“Yes, it is. I met you and I smashed your windshield and I showed you what I do for a living. Now you play a part in almost everything I do and you pull your own cons and I feel so  _ dirty.  _ I feel guilty, you shouldn’t be involved in this.” 

“You really don’t like when they touch me?” 

“God, Harry, I hate it.” 

“So then we’ll stop doing that,” Harry says simply. He doesn't think it gets much more complex, let alone simpler than that. “Really does make me feel like a prostitute anyway, even though it doesn't happen every time.” 

Harry hopes that sentence makes Louis’ heart break in two. He hopes Louis feels something, since most of the time it seems like he feels absolutely nothing. “Harry?” Louis asks, voice soft and vulnerable. “Can you open the door so I can tell you something?” 

Sighing, Harry opens the door just a bit. Louis shoves it open the rest of the way. Now they're sitting face to face on either side of the doorway. “I’m in love with you,” Louis whispers. The look on his face tells Harry that just saying that was a bit hard for Louis. “I'm in love with you, Harry. You're not the long con. I don't want you to fuck our cons. I don't want to fuck our cons. I don't want you to feel like you have to fuck our cons just to please me or make me more money or why ever the hell you think you need to. I’m in love with you.”

********

**PRESENT DAY.**

Harry wakes up with a slight headache and a nearly empty bottle of wine on the nightstand. He sits up and contemplates what to do for the day. The gym is the first thing that comes to mind. So he gets up, gets dressed and heads downstairs. He uses his room key to get into the gym and stops dead in his tracks when he gets there.

Louis. Because that's just Harry’s fucking luck. He's running on the treadmill, shirtless, earbuds in his ears. Harry swallows hard. For some reason he doesn't turn around. He gets on the other treadmill, finally capturing Louis’ attention. 

He takes an earbud out. “Is there a reason why you're following me?” Louis asks, not slowing his treadmill speed. 

“I’m not.” 

“I'm not a con?” 

“I don't do that anymore,” Harry replies. “Last night was different.”

“Right. It was because I was there, right? I made you do it.” 

“You've always been a bad influence,” Harry says, kicking up the speed on his treadmill to match Louis’. He could never make Louis a long con. If Louis were a long con, Harry would have fallen in love and everything would have been destroyed. 

“I’m the reason you ever got into any of that shit, I know. You don’t need to remind me.” 

Harry watches Louis bump his speed up a bit. He does the same. “Stop trying to compete with me, Styles. It’s a fucking treadmill.” Louis mutters. 

Competition with Louis still tends to fuel Harry. It happened with everything when they were together. They competed with friends and drinking and money and cons, once Louis began teaching them to him. So of course they’re amping up the treadmill speeds up. They want to compete. 

Louis doesn’t forfeit, is the thing. Harry’s getting out of breath, he’s getting tired and isn’t going to be able to go on for much longer like this. He wonders when Louis got into better shape than him. Harry gives in ( _ finally _ ), needing desperately to catch his breath and get a drink and no longer that desperate to beat Louis. 

“Can’t take the heat, Styles?” Louis teases, coming off his treadmill as well. 

“Need I point out that you stopped too?” Harry watches Louis pick up his water bottle, continues watching as he leans against the wall and drinks. 

“Ah, I’d already been going for too long.” 

Harry nods slowly. “Right. I’m sure that’s true.” 

Louis points at him. “Hey.” 

“Hey what?” 

“Knock it off.” 

Harry will continue, just because Louis said that. Just because Harry knows it’s bothering him. Of course, he knows Louis very well and he’s probably just stringing Harry along but Harry can’t even bring himself to care. “You're intimidated by me, aren't you?” 

Louis laughs. “Intimidated by you?” 

Harry nods, stepping closer to Louis. “You don’t like that I’m not some lost puppy willing to follow you around. You don’t like that I stand up for myself to you, you don’t like that I also know exactly what I want. You’re intimidated by me.” 

“That’s a bit of a reach, darling,” Louis smirks. “I’m not intimidated by you, not in the slightest.” 

Something happens suddenly, something Harry isn’t sure how to identify, something that’s maybe mental, maybe physical, maybe chemical, maybe all of the above. Harry steps forward, closes the distance between himself and Louis in all his shirtless, sweaty glory, and kisses him. 

Louis kisses him back. 

Harry falls into Louis, feeling weak suddenly, and pushes Louis’ back against the wall. The kiss is frantic, harsh, full of nostalgia and hatred and desperation. Harry hikes Louis’ leg up over his waist, pulling them even closer together and giving an open opportunity to grind (Harry’s always been a sucker for contact, especially with Louis). 

Louis stops kissing him, takes a breath. They stay pressed together. “This is why I’m not intimidated by you,” he says softly. “Because you can’t control yourself around me. I know that.” 

Harry steps back, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. He doesn’t know what to say. Unfortunately,  _ Louis _ does know what to say. “When I first met you, you’d been fascinated with me. What I did. How I carried myself. You watched everything that I did and just assumed that I didn’t notice. You still do it, you watch me.” 

“You’re right,” Harry admits, nodding. “I’m completely infatuated with you. Every single thing I do revolves around you.” 

“I think this,” Louis gestures between the two of them, at what just happened, “proves that very much.” 

Harry glares at him. “Fuck you.” 

“Oh! You’ve got a bite, then?” Louis laughs. 

“I don’t appreciate you laughing at me,” Harry says firmly. It’s about time Louis fucking  _ respects  _ him. “You never showed me any respect. The only time you ever respected me was when I was on my knees for you.” 

Louis’ face falls. “I can’t believe you think that.” 

“Of course I think that, Louis, you’ve never done anything to make me feel anything other than that!” Harry shouts. 

Instead of saying anything, Louis moves from where Harry’s had him cornered and starts gathering his stuff. He picks up a towel and shirt and sweatshirt and water bottle before looking at Harry one last time. “Harry? I’m kind of hurt that you think that about me.” 

With that, Louis leaves. Harry stands there, a weird feeling in his chest and a sick feeling in his stomach. He gets back up on the treadmill and goes back to working out. 

********

**MAY 2015 (** **TWO YEARS AGO).**

Harry feels like he’s floating. He feels like he’s floating on air, on clouds, on water, on love, on a boat in the middle of the Tenerife sea, maybe. Or he’s high. Yeah, that’s more probable.

“I always forget that you get like  _ this  _ when we smoke,” Louis says quietly, tracing gentle fingers over Harry’s face. “You’re totally gone.” 

Harry hums, furrowing his eyebrows as he takes another hit. “I’m right here.” 

Louis laughs. Harry watches him as he does, watches him take another hit on his joint. He looks beautiful, Harry thinks, he looks absolutely gorgeous laying here smoking. Louis’ breathtaking, Louis’ incredibly mesmerizing to watch and to be around and to talk to and to listen to and to touch, especially to touch. The way he moves puts Harry under a spell that he never wants to come out of. 

“Are you gonna do this forever?” Harry asks finally, resting his head on Louis’ shoulder. 

“What, get high?” 

Harry laughs. “No, not that. I mean… I mean the whole…  _ con thing,”  _ he drops his voice to a whisper, like it’s a scandalous secret. And it is one, really. “Are you going to be a conman for the rest of your life?” 

Louis is quiet for a moment. It feels like a really long time, Harry almost loses himself again, that’s how long it truly is. But then Louis says, “I don’t know. Why?” 

Harry shrugs. “Because if you're doing this forever, then we can't ever have kids. Because con artists are always changing. On the move. If you're on the move, you can't have kids.” 

Louis, again, is silent. “God, you really are gone.” he says instead of formulating a proper answer. Harry might be gone, but he can tell when Louis’ avoiding giving an answer. He's rather good at avoiding answering questions to those he doesn't want to, but, fortunately, Harry’s good at realizing when Louis’ doing so. 

“You didn't answer my question,” Harry points out. Louis sighs. Harry laughs. “You're so stubborn.” 

“You're just… you're a lot. You know that, Harry Styles?” Louis asks, and Harry shakes his head. “I don't know if I’ll do this forever.” 

“Well… do you want to?” 

Harry looks up at Louis, waiting patiently for his answer. Louis sighs heavily, rubbing Harry’s arm. “I don’t know. It’s not ideal. It’s not typical.” 

“You know, you haven’t met my mum yet?” Harry inquires, sitting up abruptly. “We’ve been seeing each other, romantically, anyway, for almost an entire year and I haven’t taken you home yet.” 

“We shouldn’t have this conversation while you’re stoned,” Louis says, getting up from the bed quickly and abruptly. 

Harry rolls his eyes, but doesn’t do much to protest. He lays down again, taking a long drag on his joint. He sets the rest of it down in the ashtray and falls asleep. 

He falls into a dream where he can’t feel or see anything on his body. He can’t feel his hands, he can’t see them, he can’t feel his feet hitting the ground or  _ anything _ . Louis is there, Harry can see him. But he’s far away, far, far away. He can hear Louis calling out to him, can hear Louis screaming his name and begging him for something that Harry can’t quite understand. Suddenly Louis’ in front of him, touching him, and sending a spark of electricity through Harry’s body that jolts him upright in the bed. 

Louis looks at him, eyebrows arched. “Welcome back,” he muses.

Harry rubs his face, attempting to pull bits and pieces of the previous hours back to him. “You’ve never met my mum,” he says. “And I’ve never met your mum.” 

“God, how I wish that conversation was erased from your memory.” Louis groans, turning all the way around to face Harry. “I know. We’ve never brought each other home. Are you hungry?”

“Yes, I’m hungry. Did you get food?” 

Louis reaches to the desk behind him and tosses a pizza box onto the bed in front of Harry. Harry opens it up, picking up a slice and taking a bite. “We’ve never brought each other home.” 

“Are you gonna say that again? As if I didn’t hear it the first seven times you said it?” 

“I haven’t said it seven times,” Harry mumbles. “We’ve been together for a year and you haven’t brought me home. You’ve hardly even told me about your family. I know, like, nothing.” 

Louis scoffs. “You don’t know  _ nothing." _

“I know that you’re a con artist. I know that you buy your pot off of your best friend Zayn. I know that you just turned twenty three and you’ve been conning since you were a teenager. I think that’s just about all I know? I feel like I’ve told you everything about me. I feel like you know about my family and my past and my friends and whatever but I don’t know anything about you.” 

“You’ve made no effort to try to bring me home,” Louis points out. 

“Uh, yes I have. But whenever I do you always have some bullshit excuse!” 

“I’m really not that kind of person, Harry. I’m not the kind of guy you take home to meet your mother. I can’t really sit there and tell her about how I’ve been stealing money from people since I could drive a car! She’d find out  _ one  _ thing about me, about my life, and automatically decide that I’m not fit to be with her son because of it.” 

“That’s not true at all. She’s not like that, Louis, she’s not judgemental like that. If you’re important to me - which you  _ are  _ \- then she’d give you a chance, the benefit of the doubt, an opportunity to prove yourself, what fucking ever you’d want or I ask her for.” 

“I’m not like that. That’s not who I am, at all. And as for my family, it’s really not the kind of family you want to come to meet either!” 

“Well, I think I should be the judge of that, don’t you? Whether or not your family is a family I want to meet? Except,  _ oh _ , wait, I can’t judge because you haven’t told me  _ anything  _ about them! It’s been a fucking  _ year  _ since you smashed my car windshield, months since we started dating-” 

“We’re fucking.”

Harry laughs, but not humorously, rather in a more astonished manner. “You think we’re just fucking?” 

“That's all it is,” Louis says coldly. Harry suddenly isn't hungry anymore. He feels like he's going to vomit. “I’m not someone you take home to your mum, I’m not someone bring someone  _ else  _ home to  _ my  _ mum, and if you can’t keep fucking like this then you should leave.” 

********

**PRESENT DAY** .

Harry can see him. They’re both at same bar, on complete separate ends. Harry’s pretty sure that Louis hasn’t even seen him yet, which is a good thing. He orders another drink and watches Louis cozy up next to a young man. Harry can’t tell if this is part of a con or if Louis’ genuinely interested in this man, wanting to hook up with him. Either way, the night will come to a close with Louis going with the man to his hotel and leaving before the sun rises.

There’s a karaoke machine with someone up there singing an obnoxious version of some Alicia Keys song. He remembers that his mother likes the song, which makes Harry realize that she hasn’t called him in a while, and that  _ he _ should probably call  _ her.  _

The night drags on, Harry drinking more than he should as the singers get more and more awful. The songs get more and more atrocious, which makes Harry want to leave. But he doesn’t. He stays watching Louis, who has moved on to the next young man to seduce and scam and maybe fuck. He practically sells himself to these men sometimes, which makes Harry sick to his stomach. 

Without meaning to, at all, Harry makes eye contact with Louis. Louis’ still got his flirty posture as he stands with a man, and he winks at Harry.  _ He always gave the most mixed signals.  _ The second  Harry swallows his fear and his hatred, it’s like a switch is flipped. He goes from pissed at Louis to wanting him in every single way possible, in ways that Harry typically doesn’t want things. He wants Louis in every single way he can have him, which should send Harry right back into fear, but it doesn’t. So, in his right state of mind, Harry struts over to the karaoke machine, requesting a song that he recalls driving Louis wild. 

“Baby, can’t you see I’m calling, a guy like you should wear a warning,” he keeps his voice low, eyes locked on Louis. 

Louis’ eyes go wide, he stands up straight and directs all of his attention to Harry on the small karaoke stage. It’s like he’s finally been brought out of a trance. “There’s no escape, I can’t wait, I need a hit. Baby, give me it. You’re dangerous, I’m loving it.”  

Harry locks eyes with Louis and saunters across the bar to him, singing all the while. He likes this, he likes having this control over Louis. It’s empowering, is what it is. He loves it. He probably sounds drunk, off-his-ass intoxicated, just plain crazy and gone. The people in the bar aren’t any better, let alone paying any attention. And, Louis doesn't seem to mind. “It’s getting late, to give you up I took a sip from my devil cup, slowly, it’s taking over me,” Harry muses, trailing fingers up Louis’ chest. “Too high, can’t come down, it’s in the air and it’s all around, can you feel me now?”  

Louis is speechless, mouth hanging open and a look in his eyes that Harry knows all too well and has missed all too much. 

 

Ten minutes later Louis is pinning Harry’s back to the bathroom door of the bar and kissing him like it’s the only thing he ever wants or needs to do. Kissing Louis is something Harry has thought about for the longest time, something he’s missed more than he cares to admit. 

“I do intimidate you,” Harry breathes, struggling to undo the buttons on Louis’ shirt. “This proves it.”

“You’re in no position to be saying stuff like that, Styles. You wanna do this or no?” 

********

**OCTOBER 2015 (TWO YEARS AGO).**

Harry doesn’t understand how Louis’ brain works all of the time. It's a very complex place, kind of like a maze, except one with trap doors and land mines and dead ends just to throw Harry off track. Whenever he thinks he's figured something out about Louis, something else happens or Louis shuts him down or shuts him out or  _ whatever.  _ Louis’ complex, to put it simply.

That's why Harry’s stayed all this time. 

“You look like you’re annoyed,” Louis says. “Are you annoyed?” 

Harry shakes his head, watching Louis as he gets dressed. “Just thinking. Don’t worry about it.” 

Louis quirks an eyebrow at Harry in the mirror. “I’m going to worry about it. Because you’re laying in my bed and looking at me and you’re with me and I want to know what you’re thinking about.” 

“Just you.” 

He laughs. “That’s very specific, thank you.” 

“I’m just thinking about what you do.” 

“You know what I do.” 

“I know. But I… I don’t really know. I just wanna know how you do it, I guess. Why you do it.” 

Louis pauses, shirt half unbuttoned as he turns around to face Harry. “I do it because it makes me money. I’ve done it since I was, like, fifteen. Except now I make more and the stakes are a bit higher.” 

“Higher stakes?” 

“Depending on who I go after. Sometimes it’s a powerful businessman, sometimes it's a woman who has a hot-tempered husband. I may pull a pigeon drop somewhere but it may start to go south. A dozen things could go wrong.” Louis shrugs. “And I could get caught. Face a few years in prison.” 

“You make sound like you’re the head of the mafia or something,” Harry laughs. Louis sounds absolutely ridiculous right now, but he’s always had a flare for the dramatic. “Promise me, Mr. Tomlinson, that you’ll keep me safe?”

Louis laughs, loud and bright and throwing his head back. Harry can hardly contain everything he wants to blurt out. He turns around to face Harry, a massive smile on his face. “I’ll keep you safe, Mr. Styles.” 

********

**PRESENT DAY** . 

It looks like Harry is stalking Louis, probably, because now he can see him in the hotel dining room. 

“Hey,” Louis whisper-shouts, looking at Harry from his table in the corner of the room. They're the only people in the place, go fucking figure. 

Harry gets up, taking his menu and his phone over to Louis’ table. “Don't whisper-shout to me across the fucking dining room. What do you want?” 

“I just wanted to see if you would just… come over. You did.” Louis smirks. Harry rolls his eyes, already going to walk away again. “Hey, wait. Really, I wanted to talk to you. Sit down, let me buy you dinner.”

Harry quirks an eyebrow. He sits down nonetheless, but not without continuing to give Louis a suspicious look. “ _ You  _ want to buy  _ me  _ dinner.” 

“You got me off in a bar bathroom last night, it’s the least I can do. Were you hungover this morning? You did drink a lot. And, you picked _Toxic,_ too. That’s a selection I haven’t heard in a long time.” 

“It got you going, didn’t it?” Harry retorts, looking down at his menu. If Louis’ buying, Harry has learned to always buy the most expensive thing they offer. “You’re in no place to talk just as much as I’m in no place to talk.”    


Louis laughs, sitting back in his chair. “You are truly something else, Harry Styles.” 

“So I’ve been told. What did you want to talk to me about?” 

“Why’d you hook up with me last night if you hate me so much? If you think I only wanted you for a fuck, if you think the only time I ever admired you was when you were on your knees, if you think that all you were doing for me was making money, then why’d you do it?” 

Louis definitely doesn't hold back. Harry wills himself to have an answer. He wants to grab an answer so good it stuns Louis into silence. An answer so good it stuns Louis into respecting Harry like he never had before. After a moment of silence, Harry says, “Because I can. I can fuck you if I want to. I can fuck somebody else if I want to. I’m allowed to do whatever I want to. I didn’t hook up with you because you wanted to or didn’t want to, even though we know that you  _ really  _ wanted to and we know that you’re so fucking happy that it happened.” 

Louis nods slowly, a crooked grin making itself a spot on his face. His stupid, beautiful face. Harry speaks before Louis does, “It’s never going to happen again, you know. That was it. It only happened because  _ you’re  _ a lot. Anyone is overcome by your presence. They all fall in love with you within two minutes, it’s ridiculous. You’ve got fucking galaxies in your eyes and other  _ people  _ have no hope, let alone myself. There was no hope.” 

He shouldn’t have said that. Harry should have kept his mouth shut, he realizes. Of course he realizes that after he’s said too much. But Louis’ looking at him, a bit shocked and like he’s filled with wonder. “You think?” he asks softly. 

Harry nods. “Yeah, I do. It's why you're perfect for this kind of work, conning. Everybody trusts you and loves you no matter what and you're phenomenal at flirting with both men and women. You earn their trust in only a few minutes.” 

“I’m not going to do this forever,” Louis admits, looking back down at his menu. Harry doesn't mind this, truthfully. He doesn't mind sitting here and talking to Louis, watching Louis share personal things. Sharing was always something Louis wasn't very good at, so Harry’s pleased to see something has changed a bit. 

“One day I’ll stop. I don’t know when, but one day I will.” 

“That’s good. That you want to.” 

Louis shrugs. “Have you decided what you want to eat? Pick something good.” 

“Always do, especially if you’re paying.” 

Harry gets a laugh out of Louis, especially when decides to order the most expensive steak on the menu, alongside a nice glass of red wine. “Do you have any other questions for me? Or is my interrogation through?” 

“You just ordered a massive fucking steak and a glass of wine that I’m buying for you, I’m going to ask as many questions as I can think to ask, no matter how much tension it causes,” Louis smirks. The waiter comes and pours Harry his glass of wine, saying their meals will be out as soon as possible. “I wanna know what you’ve been up to since I saw you last.” 

“You wanna know if I slept with anyone else.” 

“Well… if you did fuck other people during our time apart and you see fit to include that in what you’ve done since I saw you last, then…” 

“I haven’t,” Harry admits, voice soft. As if he could  _ ever  _ fuck someone else when all he was thinking about was Louis. “And I stopped conning, too.” 

Louis nods. “Good, I’m glad. I shouldn’t have gotten you involved in that. I still feel shitty for that.” 

“It wasn’t your fault. I liked it. I thought it was fun.” 

“I never wanted you to think that. I bought you that car and I told you what I did because you didn’t believe me. I never wanted you to start doing it too. So, um, what else have you been doing?” Louis clears his throat and takes a sip from his beer. 

Harry has to wrap his lips around his own wine glass to keep from smirking ridiculously large at Louis’ reactions. Louis can deny all he wants, but he’s intimidated by Harry. This makes Harry feel more pride than anyone can believe. “I think I want to become a photographer or something. I don't know how, but I bought a camera and I just have to... put it to use, I guess.” 

“You were always good at taking pictures.” 

Harry shrugs. “The person I was taking pictures of was a perfect model,” he replies. And,  _ crap,  _ that was pushing it. “What have you been doing?” 

“Last week I took a train up to some place in Westchester and stole and sold a car. I’m saving up now. Because, like I said, I don’t want to do this forever.” 

“Have you ever genuinely bought a car?” Harry asks curiously. 

“Once. Yours,” Louis murmurs. “That was the only car I've ever purchased. Everything else is stolen and resold. And my car now is a rental. Do you still drive that thing, by the way?” 

“My sister’s got it. Back home in London.” 

“Ah, that's nice of you. Regifting my gift?” 

“That wasn't a gift, that was a replacement. A really nice one, since you were trying to woo me.” 

Louis laughs. “My intentions at first weren't to woo you. I just… felt really bad.” 

“And figured I’d look pretty riding shotgun in a Lamborghini.” 

“Yeah, that too,” Louis laughs again. “Do you really think I’m an asshole? Do you think that you meant nothing to me?” 

_ Way to change the fucking mood.  _ “I never really felt otherwise. We fought all the time and then we fucked. You rarely showed that I was anything more,” Harry shrugs, pushing his food around on his plate. 

“Don't say that like it’s nothing,” Louis scolds. “It makes me sick to think that you felt that way.” 

“You always said you loved me but then stuff would happen that made me think the opposite. And we never met each other’s families, so… We’re just different people, I guess.” 

********

Harry wakes up to his phone ringing. He answers blindly, hardly even opening his eyes. “‘ello?”

“You know I’m a fucking idiot, right?” Louis’ voice is loud and accusing through the phone.

Harry sits up straight and rubs his face, trying to wake himself up. He looks at the clock, a bright red 2:32 shining. “Are you drunk?” 

They parted ways after Louis bought him dinner, leaving a considerable chunk of time for Louis to have gotten drunk at the hotel bar. “No,  _ Harold,  _ I’m not drunk. I’m not drunk at all.” 

“Why are you up at two thirty in the morning if you’re not drunk?” 

“I was on the phone with my mum,” Louis replies. If Harry wasn’t interested before, he’s definitely interested now. “They’re back home in London. She’s up with the little twins now.” 

“Little twins?” Harry asks, voice soft and awe-filled. Louis never told him anything about his family, really, aside from the fact that he had a ‘few’ siblings. 

“Are… listen, are you in your room? Can we talk?” 

“I’m- yeah. Obviously I am, it’s the middle of the night. Yeah. Room 1320.”

There’s shuffling on Louis’ end of the line, Harry presumes he’s getting up. “I’m coming now.” 

He hangs up without saying goodbye, leaving Harry in silence. He finally comes to his senses, springing awake and debating what to do. He looks down at what he’s wearing; underwear and a tee shirt. “Fuck me,” Harry mutters, rooting through the pile of clothes that has accumulated since he checked in and finding a pair of sweats to throw on. He’s not greeting Louis in his underwear. He speed-brushes his teeth in the bathroom for good measure. 

There’s a soft knock on the door. Harry waits a few seconds before going and opening it. Louis’ standing there in joggers and a ratty Pink Floyd tee shirt with only socks on his feet and his phone in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. He looks different than he did at dinner, softer, more tired. “Hi,” Harry breathes out. “You can come in.” 

“How generous of you,” Louis remarks, following Harry into the room. “Had some prick buy this for me. It’s expensive, so it’ll be good.” 

“How generous of  _ you.”  _ Harry mocks. “All I’ve got are cheap plastic cups for your expensive prick-bought wine.” 

Louis laughs. “Fitting. I don’t mind.” 

Harry gets two of the cups and lets Louis fill them almost all the way. “What, um, what did you want to talk about?” 

“I just got off the phone with my mum. She was up early with the little twins. They’re three.” Louis says, sitting cross-legged on the bed. 

“They’re just babies,” Harry whispers, facing Louis. 

Louis nods. “Mum had me when she was, like, seventeen. Then she met Mark, my step-dad. They had my sister Charlotte, or Lottie. Felicite, or Fizzy. And then Daisy and Phoebe, they’re twins. They’re thirteen. Then Mark and mum got divorced and she met Dan, who she’s married to now. That’s where the little twins came from. Ernest and Doris.” 

“What about your dad?” 

“Oh. I don’t, uh, I don’t talk to him. Neither does my mum. He’s a bit of a dickhead. As is Mark. But Dan... Dan’s a good guy. My sisters like him, my mum likes him, obviously. Uh… when I was eleven I broke my ankle playing footie. Was out for months, I hated every minute of it.” 

“Louis…” Harry whispers, wanting to tighten his grip on his cup but somehow remembering that it's only plastic and he will surely break it. In anger or nervousness or pain or all of the above. “Why are you telling me this?” 

Louis takes a long gulp from the wine, downing nearly half of the cup. “Because I told you, I’m a fucking idiot. And I’d never told you anything before. But now you know, so.” 

“That's all you wanted to tell me? About your family tree?” 

Louis doesn't say anything. Harry braces for him to snap. Harry braces for the explosion, the moment of impact. It almost always comes when they have a serious conversation. “Yeah, I think so. But I actually spoke to my mum about coming home,” Louis says finally. 

Harry’s eyes go wide. “As in… London, home?” 

“Back to Doncaster. I've been here for too long, anyway. I know I said New York City is big but… now that I know you're here, I’m afraid it's not big enough for the both of us.” 

“I’m not conning.” Harry says firmly. “Besides, that's just your giant fucking ego getting in the way. That's good that you want to go home, Lou. I’m happy for you. And I’m glad that you told me about your family. The baby twins sound absolutely precious.” 

“I also, um, told her about you.” 

Harry almost spills his wine all over the bed. But if he did that, it’d mix with Louis’ already-spilled soul, and Harry doesn't want to add any more to the mess. “What?” 

“I mentioned you.” 

“How? Why? What did you say?” 

“Told her that a long time ago I met somebody special and we broke up but I met them again recently and she was thrilled,” Louis explains, shrugging like its nothing. Harry feels his hopes soar just a bit higher; they might get back together. “Thinks we’re dating again and whatnot. I told her we weren't, but whatever.” 

Harry’s hopes are immediately shot down. He feels the hole in his heart open up just a little bit more. “Is that all you have to say? Or do you have more to tell me?” 

Louis stares hard at his cup. “I want to get drunk.” 

 

Harry’s never been one to deny Louis’ wishes. They sit on the bed and drink the entire bottle of wine to the point where Harry starts to feel a little woozy. “You’re still a fuckin’ lightweight,” Louis accuses. “You were drunk before y’finished your first cup.” 

Harry shakes his head. “That’s not true. I can handle myself.” 

“That’s why you look like you’re about to hurl all over me, right?” 

Harry curses him. Inside his head, anyway. In reality Harry just attempts to keep himself from puking and proving Louis right. 

He pukes anyway, because Harry has horrible self control and likes proving Louis right, apparently. Thankfully, Louis helps him make it to the toilet and doesn't make fun of him.

“I haven’t gotten so drunk I puked in, like, forever.” Harry mumbles, resting his forehead on the toilet seat. “I don’t feel drunk anymore.” 

“You shouldn’t rest your head on the toilet seat, love. Germs and whatnot,” Louis says, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder and making him lean away from the toilet. Harry leans over, falling all the way into Louis. “Oh, shit. I didn’t mean for you to lean your wine-stenched, vomiting self into me.” 

“You’re so comfy. Still so comfy.” 

“I think we should get you into bed,” Louis decides. Harry loves how responsible Louis can be sometimes. He can be really fucking responsible when he wants to be. 

“You must have been good with your sisters,” Harry remarks, letting Louis pull him to his feet and lead him into the bed. “I feel like you were really good with them. Y’had to, like, raise them or summat, right? I think I remember you saying that once when I first met you.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure I did. Can you get your clothes off?” 

“Think I need your help.” 

“I’m not… I can’t undress you, Harry,” Louis says softly. Harry looks up at Louis with wide, pleading eyes that he recalls almost always used to work in getting him things. Louis sighs. “Fine. You have to cooperate. And tell me if you're going to fucking puke again.” 

It goes fairly quickly, but Harry can't say he's being very cooperative. Louis’ very close and he's very pretty and Harry is very drunk. “I'm gonna get you some water, alright?” 

Harry nods, falling back onto the bed as he tries to pretend his head isn’t spinning. Louis comes back seconds later with a bottle of water. Harry takes a few sips before laying down again. “Stay,” he murmurs, pulling the blankets up over himself. 

“I’m going to, H. I’ll sleep on the couch. You sleep it off, alright?” 

Harry shakes his head. “Sleep in the bed. It’s okay, you can.” 

“Harry…” Louis tries to protest, but Harry really isn’t having it. He’s drunk and he’s tired and he just wants Louis to shut up and get in bed. 

Louis does, and Harry immediately snuggles up to him. Louis’ still so comfy and warm. Harry tells him that, but Louis only tells him to go to sleep. 

Harry tries, really tries, but for once in all of his years of drinking he can’t fall asleep. It probably has something to do with the fact that Louis’ here, for the first time in months. “I wanted a lot with you,” he says softly. “I wanted everything with you.”

“H, you’re drunk. I don’t know why you insist on having conversations with me when we’re impaired.” 

“That’s because it’s when you’re honest,” Harry replies simply, sitting up to look at Louis. “You were only ever honest when you were drunk.” 

“That isn’t true.” 

“Mhm. Yes it is, it’s very true, actually.” 

“I was honest with you tonight. Before we started drinking,” Louis points out.  _ Shit, he’s right.  _

“I’m still in love with you.” Harry whispers, voice so low and slurred and quiet that maybe Louis doesn’t even hear him. “I wanted everything with you. I think I still do. And I think that you feel the same way, but you won’t ever admit it.” 

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” 

“I think I can be the judge of that.” 

Louis looks at Harry with a look on his face that Harry’s never really seen before, he looks sad and confused and  _ sad.  _ Harry wants to make everything better. “Don’t do this, Harry. Please.” 

“You wanna run again, don’t you?” 

“That’s what I do. You know that’s what I do. I run.” 

“You don’t have to run from me, though. I don’t want you to run from me!” Harry exclaims. “You don’t  _ need _ to run from me.” 

“Harry… I can’t do this with you. We did it once and it didn’t work. It didn’t work out.” 

Harry leans closer to him, his brain registering  _ kissing distance!  _ but somehow managing to ignore the feeling and maintain some self control. “We didn’t work because you were scared. You were scared of what you felt for me and what we could have been. You didn’t  _ let  _ us work. Because you think that I can’t handle your job or your attitude or your emotions or your  _ whatever.”  _

“I wasn’t scared. I’m not scared of you.” 

Harry laughs, sitting upright. “Yes you are! You totally are! You keep on denying it because you think that will make me unsee it, but I’m  _ not,  _ I  _ can’t!”  _

“Fine. What do you want me to say, Harry? That you scared me? You did. You really, really did because you wanted everything and I know I can’t be that person for you. Seeing you throw everything into me - into us - and knowing that I really can’t give you anything back because I’m so fucking  _ scared  _ is terrifying to me!” 

“Why?” 

“Because you give me  _ everything  _ you have without getting enough in return. The fact that you’re willing to love and not be loved in return scares me. Because you should be loved in return. And I don’t know if I can do that for you.” 

“Why?” 

“Christ, is that all you know how to say?” Louis groans, getting up abruptly.

Harry watches him begin to pace around the room, something Louis typically does when he gets anxious. Yeah, Harry still prides himself on how he gets under Louis’ skin. Even after they broke up, he still gets under Louis’ skin. 

“I’m not… I’m not built like that. I’m a fucking con artist. I drink too much and the shit I do is illegal and I smoke cigarettes and pot and don’t know how to show my feelings because that was never something prioritized in my life; I was always looking after my sisters and making sure that they were okay and they were showing  _ their  _ feelings so I never showed off my own.” 

“You think that’s going to scare me? You think those things are going to deter me from feeling anything about you?” 

Harry doesn’t understand. He never did, he probably never will, especially not when he’s drunk. He didn’t understand why Louis couldn’t just… accept some things. He couldn’t just accept Harry loving him before they broke up, he can’t accept Harry loving him after they broke up, he can’t just accept that  _ he  _ loves Harry. That’s something that Louis’ having a lot of trouble with, apparently. 

“I’m afraid of hurting you!” Louis almost shouts, his voice taking on that rough, nail-laced, stern tone that Harry knows well. “I don’t even feel drunk anymore but I pray to God that you don’t remember this in the morning when we’re sober, but I know the only way I’ll say anything like this is when I’m drunk. You’re right about that. I was shit to you. But I can’t have you walking around thinking that you meant  _ nothing  _ to me. Because that’s not true, not at all.” 

Harry doesn’t move. He doesn’t say anything. He stares at Louis blankly. Louis stands there and laughs. “Now you have nothing to say. I should probably go, that seems like a good idea at this point.” 

“No!” Harry protests immediately, the word ripped from his throat like he was going to explode if he didn’t get it out. “I want you to stay.” 

“You’re drunk,” Louis points out needlessly. 

“Not with you. I stopped feeling drunk a long time ago.” Harry argues back, pulling Louis down over him. “I want you.” 

Just as much as Harry’s not one to deny Louis, _Louis_ isn’t one to deny _Harry._ His hands are roaming Harry’s body in an instant, not once looking away from Harry’s face. “What do you want?” he asks softly, straddling Harry’s hips. 

“Everything,” Harry replies without waiting a second. “I want _you.”_

“Hm…” Louis considers, still moving gentle, fleeting fingers over every inch of Harry’s still-clothed torso. “That doesn’t sound very specific, darling. Tell me what you want.” 

Harry can feel the color leave his face, but in the good way. The anticipation way. “I want you to fuck me,” he whispers. 

“ _Fuck.”_ Louis curses, leaning down and catching Harry’s lips in a slow, heavy kiss. Harry thinks this is what it’s like in heaven. Louis’ grinding his hips in tight, hot circles. Harry’s hands fly to Louis’ waist, just wanting to touch him. Wanting to feel the way Louis’ body moves.  After so long of not feeling it, this is definitely heaven.

“Touch me,” Harry begs, feeling and sounding desperate but not caring in the slightest. “I-I want you, I want your hands, want your mouth, want your _cock, fuck.”_

“Still so eager for it, hm?” Louis hums against Harry’s neck, right over where his pulse 

hammering, hammering, hammering under his skin. “I’ll give it to you, baby. Missed seeing you in bed. Falling apart. And for who?”

“ _You._ Only for you, Lou. Still, only you.” 

Louis hums contentedly. “Because I know you…” he pauses to suck on Harry’s neck again. Harry moans embarrassingly loud. Louis doesn’t seem to care. “I’m going to guess that you’ve got lube stashed somewhere, right?” 

“In my-in my bag. Fuck, Louis. Please.” 

Louis gets up immediately. He’s still wearing _pants,_ what a cruel fucking world Harry’s living in. They’re both still wearing pants. Double cruel world. Harry watches Louis bend down and begin to shuffle through the contents of Harry’s bag, quick yet not fast enough in turning up the bottle of lube. He comes back over to the bed, but Harry doesn’t give him a chance to say anything before pulling him in for another messy kiss. 

Louis lets it happen, too. He loves it just as much as Harry does, always has and probably (hopefully) always will. Harry controls the kiss, a hand firm on the back of Louis’ neck, dangerously close to pulling on Louis’ hair. “Take this off,” Harry demands, pushing Louis’ shirt up his torso. 

He obeys immediately, giving Harry exactly what he wants: Louis’ body. The second Louis’ shirt is off, Harry outright moans. _That one_ is definitely embarrassing. Louis laughs at it. “No one ever did appreciate my body quite as much as you did, Haz.” 

Harry runs his hands up and down Louis’ stomach because he can’t help himself. “How many other people got to see you like this?”

The idea of other men seeing Louis in this state - his tanned stomach, flushed face, kissed, puffy lips - makes Harry angry. It makes him jealous. Louis answers, “We’re not talking about that. You’re the one here with me, right now. I’m about to fuck _you.”_

Harry nudges Louis over onto his back and straddles Louis’ hips. He lays down over him, pressing his lips to Louis’ warm neck. “I want to be the only one you fuck. I want to be the only one who fucks you. I want to be the only one touching you like this.” 

He kisses along Louis’ collarbones, he kisses Louis’ chest and neck and shoulders and stomach, everywhere he can reach. “Need yours off too,” Louis murmurs, pulling Harry’s shirt up without waiting for Harry to catch up. 

“Take it all off.” Harry nearly whines, still eagerly moving his hips against Louis’. I must look pathetic right now, he thinks. “Everything. Wanna see you, wanna feel you, want you to touch me.” 

“I’m gonna give you anything you want, darling.” Louis promises as he pushes Harry’s sweats and boxers down together. 

They move together, Harry finally giving up all control and letting Louis take over. Louis manhandles him, controlling how Harry moves, what he gives and what he receives. 

“I want more,” Harry whines, pushing back into Louis’ hand. 

“Take it,” Louis tells him. He trails his free hand up to Harry’s mouth. Harry takes the fingers in his mouth without Louis asking him to. “Fuck, you’re so hot.” 

Harry moans around Louis’ fingers, unable to help it. “Need you to fuck me now,” he says as best he can. “ _Now.”_

When Louis does _that,_ he’s gentle. And he asks Harry what he wants. How he wants it. Harry’s laying on his back, looking up at Louis’ pretty, pretty face. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, placing a hand on Louis’ cheek. “I want you to fuck me.” 

Louis laughs breathily, burying his face in Harry’s neck and kissing the soft, sweaty skin there. “ _More,_ please-fuck.” Harry begs, because he knows that’s what Louis really wants.

It’s too much but not enough at the same goddamn time, which is probably going to make Harry come very soon and make him seem very unsexy. Louis’ moaning breathily in Harry’s ear, not looking at Harry’s face which is a wonderful thing because that means Louis can’t see Harry’s expressions. He’s sweaty and everything is red and dying for the chance to come while Louis’ fucking him, giving everything to him. 

“Kiss me,” Harry decides suddenly. “Lou-I want-”

“I heard you, God.” Louis breathes, meeting Harry’s lips for yet another slow, sensual kiss. It’s filthy, really. Harry’s getting fucked and he can feel every inch of Louis’ skin against his own and it’s filthy. He loves it. 

Louis shifts his hips and Harry gasps, his mouth falling open and breaking up the kiss. He digs his fingers into Louis’ back, unable to help himself. “Holy fuck. Oh my _God,_ Louis.” 

“You like that, hm?” Louis muses, looking down at Harry. 

“I’m gonna-fuck, I’m gonna come. I’m sorry.”

“No, baby, don’t be sorry. I don’t want you to be sorry. You’re so fucking hot, Harry. I’ve wanted this for so long, you’re so hot.” 

“Stop, it’s too soon, can’t-I need-“ 

“Shh, sweetheart, it’s fine. I got you. Show me, love, show me how it feels. You’re so fucking fit, baby, I got you.” 

Louis’ stomach rubs against Harry’s cock in just the right way and he thrusts in just the right way and Harry _comes,_ just like that. Harry goes even more pliant (that’s possible, apparently) immediately, letting Louis use him.

Louis hunches over, letting Harry bury his face in his neck. Harry brings a hand up and runs it through Louis’ hair, grabbing firmly and pulling Louis’ ear closer to his own mouth. “I love you,” he whispers. 

Louis comes. 

 The after part is what always seems to bring Harry the most fear. He never knows what Louis’ going to say or do. He might say nothing, he might say everything. He might walk out. 

This time, in this hotel room, Louis stays. He gets a towel from the bathroom and brings it back to Harry, who is, truthfully, too tired to even move. He watches Louis clean up and watches Louis pull on a pair of boxers and watches him grab a shirt for Harry to put on.

“Thank you,” Harry mumbles, pulling the shirt on over his head. It smells distinctly of Louis’ cologne. Harry hasn’t worn an article of Louis’ clothing in ages. It feels wonderful. “This is yours.” he says pointedly, needlessly. 

Louis turns around and looks at him. “Yeah. Why? Does it fit?”

“It’s fine. Even if it didn’t fit, I wouldn’t give it back to you. Are you… are you coming back to bed?” 

Louis doesn’t say anything for a moment. He stares intently at Harry in the bed. He probably looks vulnerable, Harry knows that he looks vulnerable, and he hates showing Louis any weakness. He doesn’t want to show Louis how much he wants him to stay. 

“Yeah, I’m coming back to bed,” Louis decides, finally crawling back up to Harry. 

********

**THREE MONTHS AGO.**

Harry doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. He sits there, on the couch in the apartment they’d rented thinking they’d stay awhile, and doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Louis walked out. Louis walked out that door like it was nothing, like the last three years never happened, like they hadn’t just been talking about the future last weekend. He left Harry in this apartment with a broken heart and not a clue as to what to do next. 

So he gets into bed. And he cries. And he wallows. And he ignores every phone call that comes in, every notification that makes his phone light up. He gets up again when the sun has disappeared and he’s left in the dark. 

“Louis left me and now I’m in the dark. Fucking figures.” Harry mutters. 

He stands in the center of the bedroom for a moment, drinking everything in. Finally, Harry opens the curtains all the way and lets the moonlight pour into the New York apartment. He picks up his phone, only to see missed texts from Niall asking him to come out drinking. For once, surprisingly given the circumstances, Harry doesn't want to go out. 

He knows if he goes out there would be plenty of questions about Louis. People would talk about Louis. Harry would have to pretend that his heart doesn't break every time someone says Louis’ name. He doesn't want to deal with that. 

Instead, he turns on the TV and finds some bullshit TV movie about two people falling in and out and back into love and makes himself a microwaveable dinner and wallows some more. 

Around one in the morning - Harry’s too tired to sleep - there's a knock on the door. His first thought is to assume it's the landlord, here to kick Harry out because that's just the kind of luck he's had lately. Despite the looming, slightly irrational fear that the person at the door will be his landlord, Harry gets up to answer it anyway. 

But it isn't his pudgy, cigar smoking landlord, and it's not a drunk, rambling Niall; it's Louis, his fit, cigarette smoking ex-boyfriend. Louis’ got sad eyes and a regretful look on his face and  _ this  _ is certainly not what Harry was expecting. 

“Listen. I’ll stay the night. I know you asked me to, and if you still want me to, I will.” Louis says, desperately avoiding eye contact with Harry. Harry pretends he doesn't notice Louis heartbrokenness. 

********

**PRESENT DAY** .

Harry wakes up to shuffling about the hotel room. He sits up drowsily, letting the duvet fall off his shoulder. Louis’ moving around, hopping into his sweatpants while looking for something around the room. “Lou? What’re you doing?”

“Go back to sleep, Haz,” Louis whispers, coming over and laying Harry back down gently. 

Harry’s seen this move pulled too many times. They do something and Louis runs away. He doesn’t let Louis walk away. He grabs Louis’ arm, forcing him to stay in place. “Stay. You’re staying.” 

Of all the times Harry has asked Louis to stay, Harry thinks that this is the time that he desires it most. He needs to be with Louis, needs to feel his body again, need to feel his body for even longer than he already has in ways he hasn’t felt yet. Harry just wants to stay here, in the light of the morning, knowing that Louis is laying right there with him. He needs Louis to stay here, in this bed, in this hotel, in this city, because it’s July twenty first and the AC is making it unbearably cold and they’ve simply got to share body heat. Or maybe because Harry can’t stand to see him leave yet. 

Yeah, that’s it. Harry wants to be selfish.

Louis actually gets back in the bed, is the thing. 

Harry can’t fall back asleep. He’s afraid Louis will leave the second he passes out. Louis can be an asshole like that. He waits. He waits in silence for what feels like hours, days, he waits so long that his body aches for no reason other than this is fucking painful for him; laying here with Louis and only prolonging the fact that they may never see each other again. This feels like a cruel form of torture, Harry thinks, and he doesn’t even want to leave it. 

Finally, when Louis’ breathing evens out and Harry knows he’s fallen asleep, he gets up and gets some clothes on. While fishing around in his suitcase he finds a joint, of all things. A quick glance at the clock tells him that it’s after noon and he decides to smoke it. Even though it’s random and probably stupid to do and he doesn’t even remember getting it, Harry decides to do it anyway. Maybe smoking will do something to pull him from this life to another place where none of this is happening. 

He opens the balcony doors and sits there, with Louis over one shoulder and the city over the other. Harry chooses, not for the first time and definitely not the last, to watch Louis. He looks peaceful, there wrapped in the blanket with his ever-growing hair layed out on the pillow like some kind of halo. Harry should have told Louis more often how beautiful he is. Although, Louis already knows that, so it might not have made a difference. He gets to admire Louis in his full glory, shirtless and soft and sleepy and beautiful as he sleeps through the entire day. Harry’s glad he made Louis stay this morning. 

Louis wakes up before Harry’s even finished. “Smells like pot,” he mumbles, sitting upright and looking over at Harry. “Are you smoking?” 

Harry nods, already extending the joint to Louis without questioning it. 

Louis’ up immediately, coming and taking it from Harry’s hand. “Where’d you even get this? You’re not doing a very good job of keeping the smell out, by the way.” 

“Found it in my bag. Picked it up with Niall last weekend.” 

Harry watches him take a drag, focused and looking at anything but Harry, before exhaling and coughing shortly after. “This is pretty strong, H.” 

“I know. Good, though, right?” 

Louis nods. “How come you’re getting high on the balcony while watching me sleep?” he inquires, quirking an eyebrow at Harry. 

Harry shrugs. He doesn’t have an answer other than the fact that Louis’ beautiful, Harry wants to look at him all the time, and he might be falling back into love. Or maybe (definitely) he’s still in love. “I just… I didn’t want you to leave. I feel like the second we leave this hotel room everything will end.” 

Louis doesn’t say anything. Harry braces himself.  _ Now or fucking never.  _ “I’m still in love with you. And sometimes I feel like loving you is like taking on water, but I’m realizing that I don’t think I mind so much anymore. I’ll take in the water and the entire fucking ocean and all the life that comes with it only  _ hoping  _ that somehow that brings you back to me. You’re beautiful, the fucking stars in your eyes, and it’s no wonder it was so difficult to bring you back to me. We broke up and ran around this city like it was all we knew how to do, bouncing between rooms making constellations but never making it back to each other.” 

“That’s really fucking poetic.” Louis laughs, handing Harry the joint back. “I’m not sure you need any more of that, but I’m gonna let you go at it anyway.” 

That’s the problem with Louis; he’s an asshole sometimes. Especially when it  comes to people expressing their emotions like this. You would think that with so many siblings he’d learn to be a bit better when handling stuff like this. “Why are you such an asshole?” Harry asks, looking up at him in disbelief. “You just don’t give me the fucking time of day! I’m here pouring my heart and soul out in front of you and you kick it aside without thinking twice about it. I don’t know what to do to make you  _ see  _ me.” 

Louis looks at him carefully. “I  _ see  _ you, Harry. I’ve seen nothing but you for the past three years. You’ve been the one real thing, the one constant thing in my life, since I met you. I never had that before I smashed your fucking windshield. Everything in my life changed, I changed scenery and clothes and identities and even my  _ family  _ changed; I had all sorts of men walking in and out of my life before my mum met Dan. I had all sorts of men walk out on  _ me  _ as I became more independent and got into this. You were real for me, and that’s something I’ve never been used to. You were real for me, we were real, and I ran. And you don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve to have someone who’s afraid of a serious relationship. But I do know that I want to be everything for you, that’s what I’ve always wanted.” 

Harry is shocked. He isn’t sure what to say. He stares up at Louis in disbelief. 

“I wouldn’t have slept with you last night if I didn’t feel something for you. I can sleep  with whoever I want to without feeling any emotional attachment but I can never do that with  _ you,”  _ Louis adds, for good measure or maybe for reassurance or maybe just to strengthen his point. Whatever the purpose, it’s definitely working for Harry. 

He looks up at Louis, hoping that by doing so he’s not showing his cards. He knows that he must be. Harry still isn’t quite sure of what to say. He’s already spilled his entire soul, everything he had in him to say to Louis, and Louis’ replied with what Harry had wanted for the longest time but never received: answers. “Now you don’t have anything to say? All this time you yell at me for not saying shit and now you’re the one staying quiet,” Louis notes, a smirk on his face. 

Harry glares up at him. “Suck my dick.” A childish yet appropriate response. And the only thing he can think to say. Harry mentally facepalms himself. 

“Oh. Is that some kind of an invitation, Styles?”

_ Fuck.  _ “Do you want it to be?” 

Louis laughs, bright and beautiful. “I think, for once since we’ve known each  other, we should stop fucking for a while and have a conversation.”  ****

********

“Are you really leaving me in this big wide city? All by myself?” Harry asks, watching Louis as he packs his suitcase. They’d moved from Harry’s room to Louis’ after a trip down to the hotel pool where they sat and had a long conversation.

“My flight leaves at nine tomorrow morning. I have to be ready to go,” Louis explains, not even looking up at Harry. 

They’d had a very enlightening conversation. They didn’t yell at each other, they didn’t place blame or guilt trip, and there was no intimidation or manipulating. They talked. Then they came back and had sex, but that was after the conversation, so it's okay. 

“I’m giving this up, you know. I promised myself I wouldn't do it anymore.” Louis adds. “This is it. I’m going home and I’m not doing  _ this  _ anymore.” 

“You have… Like, what's your plan?” 

Louis shrugs. “Go home. Spend time with my family for the summer. Find a job. Live my life.” 

Harry’s heart aches just a little bit when his name isn't included with those plans. He does his best to put on a brave face. “I guess I’ll give you a call if I ever touch down in Donny.” 

Louis doesn't say anything. He continues packing his suitcase, looking focused. He mumbles something, then, but Harry doesn't hear him. “Hm? You’re mumbling, which if I recall correctly, has never been a problem for you. What was that?” 

He laughs softly, still not looking up at Harry. “I said that you could come with me. To Doncaster.” 

_ Oh, that wouldn't be so bad.  _ This is what he wanted, this is what he’s wanted since the morning Louis left and Harry received an explanation letter in his mailbox with a month’s rent later that same day. This is what Harry has wanted ever since they ran into each other at the event the other night. This is what Harry’s wanted ever since they made out in the weight room, ever since he very drunkenly serenaded Louis with  _ Toxic  _ in the club, ever since they hooked up that night. It's what Harry has wanted since last night, when they ate dinner together and got drunk together and had sex. It’s safe to say that this is what Harry’s wanted for a long time. 

It finally occurs to Harry that he hasn't answered Louis’ proposition yet, which is probably making him look like he's hesitant, which isn't true. “I think… I think I might like that.” 

“Yeah?” Louis asks, finally making eye contact with Harry. He's got a small, shy, smile on his face that Harry finds absolutely endearing. Louis’ nervous asking this, bringing about this topic, and doesn't want Harry to know it (Harry won't mention it). 

“Yeah. Definitely.” 

“Come home and meet my entire clan? It's a lot. You don't have to come to my mum’s house – you and I can shack up in a hotel for a bit. Or you can go home!” 

Harry is pretty sure his face could split with the grin he’s got going on. “I think I might want to stay with you. But we can see when we get there, maybe? We can take it day by day.” 

“Day by day,” Louis repeats, voice soft. “We’ll take it day by day, Harry Styles.” 

“Sounds good, Louis Tomlinson. Day by day.” 

They don’t say anything for a moment, the smiles on their faces doing enough to say whatever it is that may need or want to be said. Louis stops finally, looking at Harry carefully. “You have a plane ticket to buy, don’t you? Don’t just stare at me.” 

Harry could  _ cry.  _ Which is really sad. But he doesn’t really care, at this point. He just doesn’t tell Louis that he could cry. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

“I’ll pay for it,” Louis offers. Harry goes to protest, but Louis shakes his head. “I got it, Harry, don’t worry about it.” 

Harry becomes overwhelmed very quickly, very suddenly, and he’s crawling to the end of the bed, grabbing Louis by the shirt and drawing him in for a kiss. They kiss sweetly, like they have all the time in the world, and they kind of do. That’s what Harry wants to think, anyway, and he has a good feeling that Louis is thinking the same thing. They’re pretty much on the same page by now. 

 

The next morning, they’re sat on a plane to Heathrow. Harry fights for the window seat with a passion he didn’t know he had for the  _ window seat,  _ of all things. This is going to be good, he thinks, looking at Louis in the middle seat next to him. He’s reading a book, something by Charles Bukowski (if Harry didn’t think they were compatible before, he certainly does now). There’s a middle-aged woman in the aisle seat flipping through an in-flight catalogue and not paying attention to anything else on the plane. This is going to be great for the two of them, great for Louis, especially. He’ll open up more, he’ll get out of that bad life, he’ll realize that people care for him and that he’s able to care for other people. 

“Harry,” Louis murmurs, not looking up from the book. He’s wearing his glasses, having explained to Harry before that he really only needs them when he’s reading. Harry doesn’t mind them at all and would quite like if they made more appearances. “You’re staring at me and I don’t like it.” 

“Sorry.” Harry says, even though he’s not sorry at all. “I just… like looking at you.” 

Louis laughs softly, closing the book and looking over at Harry. “If you can look at me, then I can look at you all I want.” 

“That seems fair. Because then I get to look at you more,” Harry quips, arching an eyebrow in defiance. Louis laughs again. “This is gonna be good for us, you know?” 

Louis nods slowly as he looks past Harry and out the window. “I hope you’re right.” 

“I think I am. Because even after everything, we came back to each other. We came back to each other and now we’re here, doing this together.” 

“You’re so sappy, Christ,” he says finally, a big grin on his face. 

“Only for you.” 

Louis stifles a laugh behind his hand. Harry is almost overwhelmed by his beauty. “ _ Va te faire foutre.”  _

Harry racks his brain for a moment, recognizing the bit of French but needing a second to figure out what Louis said. “Did you just… Did you just tell me to fuck off? In  _ French?”  _ he asks, unable to hold back a laugh. 

Louis shrugs. He looks at Harry carefully, and Harry lets him. Because that gives  _ him _ more time to look at  _ Louis.  _ He looks tired and beautiful, absolutely breathtaking. His eyes are more blue than ever, they’re beautiful pools that make Harry really fucking grateful he knows how to swim. 

So Harry keeps watching him, watches as he motions over the flight attendant and gets another drink. Watches as she smiles warmly at him and he smiles warmly back at the woman, saying something that makes her laugh. He watches Louis take the drink she brings him, shoots her a wink and another witty comment. He watches the woman beside Louis look up as she can’t help but smile at what Louis’ saying even though he isn’t even talking to her. Louis could stand up and just start talking about anything, and he’d have the passengers hanging onto every last word. He’s absolutely mesmerizing. 

Harry watches him take a drink, looking out the plane window as he does so. The sun is shining through the clouds and bathing them in the orange light but Harry thinks Louis’ eyes are shining brighter than it anyway. Louis sighs, slouching further into his seat and looking at Harry now. “What’re you thinking?” 

“You're just… captivating.”

Louis laughs, loud and bubbly. In Harry’s experience, when you get too loud on a long flight, the person next to you shushes you. But the lady next to Louis doesn't seem bothered. Harry just assumes that she's hanging onto everything Louis does, every laugh and word and glance, the same way Harry is. “Yeah,” Harry whispers, voice hushed because this…  _ this  _ is something he doesn't want anyone else on the plane hanging onto. This is their moment. “I’m just glad I get to take it all in, I guess.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> hey! congrats on reading this entire damn thing! comments and kudos are always appreciated. feel free to come yell at me on my twitter, @allgonnamakeit_ or my tumblr, alwaysbearound !!!!


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